


Shut Up, Scott!

by nana_banana



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Comedy, Foiled Confessions, Love Confessions, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-10 23:04:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17435174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nana_banana/pseuds/nana_banana
Summary: Stiles gathers the courage to do something he's been meaning to do for a long time.





	Shut Up, Scott!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RisuAlto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RisuAlto/gifts).



> This wouldn't leave me alone since my bff inspired me for it, so I spent some time today to write it. This is for you, Risu. Love you.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles stuffed the file into his backpack and grabbed his phone from the bed, raising it to his ear.

“Okay,” he said, “I've got everything. Today, I'm telling Derek how I feel.”

On the other end, an idle hum came through, and Stiles could hear the taps and clicks of Scott's Xbox controller. He could not hear the game itself as Scott had muted it when Stiles had called.

“You do that, buddy,” Scott absently replied.

Scoffing in offense, Stiles frowned and grabbed his backpack, pulling it onto his shoulder as he made his way out of his room.

“I really will!” Stiles protested. “Shut up!”

“I'm not doubting you,” Scott mumbled into the phone before cursing. “Dammit, man, I hate this guy. He's killed me like ten times. Target someone else, you asshole!”

“Gee, thanks, buddy,” Stiles sighed as he bounded down the stairs. “I'm hanging up. I'm on my way out.”

“Good luck!” Scott called, and continued his cursing until the line was cut.

The drive to Derek's loft was startlingly short. When he got there, Stiles remained in his jeep, tapping nervously at the steering wheel as he considered the possibility of a new threat addling his brain or disrupting the streets of Beacon Hills. He had gotten there far too quickly. There was definitely something up.

Or perhaps Stiles' nerves had simply made it seem that way, and Stiles was just making excuses to not see this through.

Groaning to himself, Stiles forced himself out of the jeep and looked up at the building, sighing heavily. No doubt, Derek had likely heard him coming a mile away. As much as he would have liked to, he could not just sit there and hide.

Pushing forward with a lump in his throat, Stiles made his way into the building, trepidation climbing with every stair. His heart rate was rising with every floor, and when he reached Derek's, he took his sweet time shuffling to the door. Running his hands through his hair, Stiles took a deep breath and paused just before the entrance. Raising his eyes to the ceiling, he chewed at the inside of his lip and lifted a hand to knock.

Before he could strike the metal, however, Stiles froze with realization.

He had never knocked before.

Knocking now would have been an unusual move on his part, and he forced his hand down. Shaking his limbs from nervous energy, he prepared to enter as he always did, chattering in annoyance about the walk up. But before he could wind himself up, the door slid open and Derek appeared on the other side, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Are you dying?” Derek playfully asked, a smirk playing at the edges of his lips. Stiles felt his heart skip a beat. As usual, Derek looked amazing, beard neatly trimmed and hair coiffed in that ridiculously charming backsweep. He was wearing another one of those sweater-shirts, grey in color, that Stiles personally loved, even though Lydia constantly berated Derek into getting a new wardrobe.

Stiles thought that was unnecessary. Derek could wear a loincloth and he would look amazing. Lydia decidedly did not agree. But Stiles thought that Derek would look good in traditional white underwear briefs, so maybe he could agree with her that he was a tad biased.

Derek's question successfully derailed Stiles' train wreck of thoughts and he stared at Derek, confused.

“What?” he said.

“You didn't barge in complaining about the lack of elevator today,” Derek said, and though his tone was teasing, there was an edge to it. “So something must be wrong.”

The tinge of apprehension lacing Derek's tone and the furrow developing in his brow churned Stiles' stomach. Those damned butterflies that lived within his gut took flight and Stiles chuckled halfheartedly.

“Nothing's wrong,” Stiles said, but by the disbelieving quirk of Derek's eyebrow, Stiles knew he had failed to be convincing. “I brought that research you asked for.”

“I was about to head out,” Derek said, ceding the topic as he leaned on the door with one hand. “You didn't have to come all the way over here.”

“No, it's fine,” Stiles said with a shrug. “I wanted to.” He pulled the backpack from his shoulder and Derek moved aside to let him in. Once inside, Stiles glanced back at Derek as he closed the door, his heart stuttering in his chest.

“Actually,” Stiles said, standing awkwardly next to the table in the kitchen as Derek turned to him again, “I have something I wanna say. Can we talk?”

Derek tilted his head, undoubtedly listening to Stiles' heartbeat. Approaching, he raised his arms and crossed them, planting his feet. It was his Undivided Attention stance. Stiles could feel a smile threatening to split his lips.

“Okay,” Derek said with a slight nod. “Sure. What is it?”

“I, uh,” Stiles hesitated, fingers taking hold of the zipper on his bag and toying with it.

At his hesitation, Derek raised his eyebrows pointedly and said, “Yeah?”

“So,” Stiles said, taking a deep breath, “like, we've known each other a long time now.” He nodded at his own statement.

“Yes,” Derek agreed. “We have.”

“I mean,” Stiles laughed, “we used to hate each other.” He grinned at Derek. “It took us a long time to get to this place where I can talk and you don't immediately tell me to shut up,” he joked.

Amusement bubbled up in Derek's features, but he did not laugh.

“Sure,” Derek said, a small smile tilting his lips.

“So, logically,” Stiles said, heart beginning to palpitate, “ we've gotten pretty close.”

A hint of wariness entered Derek's sage green eyes, and the earlier frown returned.

“Uh-huh…” Derek said slowly.

Stiles could feel his palms beginning to dampen. He fidgeted with the zipper, shifting on his feet.

“So what I want to say is,” Stiles began, and Derek interrupted him.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked, concern filling his face. “Your heart's beating pretty fast.”

“Yeah,” Stiles readily said, “Yeah, I just, well, I wanna say that —” He cut himself off, frowning as he thought of the words.

Derek began to look worried at that.

“What is it?” he asked.

“You're a valuable friend to me,” Stiles admitted. His stomach was flipping inside him. Nausea spread through him, and he felt cold.

“Thank you, Stiles,” Derek said, though the worry on his features did not relent. “I feel the same.”

Stiles could feel sweat forming at his brow, his heartbeat gaining velocity.

“But, like, uh,” Stiles stuttered.

“Yes?” Derek prompted before removing his arms from their place. He lowered them, but they did not fully descend. His hand twitched as if he wanted to reach out. “Are you sure you're okay?” he asked.

Stiles wished he would stop asking that. He was perspiring in earnest now, the pits of his shirt dampening with cold sweat.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” Stiles dismissed anxiously, waving a hand. “I just need to tell you.” He stopped again, gritting his teeth.

“Tell me what?” Derek implored. He forced his hands down, gazing at Stiles in severe unease.

“I just wanna say that, um,” Stiles hedged, chewing hard on the inside of his cheek.

When he did not continue, Derek stepped forward.

“Stiles?” he called. “Are you sick?”

“No, I'm not sick,” Stiles snapped, frustrated. “Just shut up for a second, okay?”

And though it seemed far from okay, Derek nodded, stepping back. Hurt entered his eyes, and guilt flooded Stiles' system.

“Okay,” Derek said, placating.

The guilt in Stiles increased.

“Sorry,” he said, but Derek shook his head, lips firmly sealed.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles met Derek's gaze, those green eyes so filled with genuine concern. Concern that took years to cultivate. They had been through thick and thin and had saved each others lives countless times. Stiles was so grateful for Derek. For his sweet, sweet concern. The words bubbled up in his throat, this confession that had failed to come out thousands of times, and Stiles broke out in chills of absolute terror, goosebumps raiding his flesh.

“I just wanted to say that I think you're a pretty cool dude,” Stiles blurted, “and I probably wouldn't be alive today without you, so thanks, okay?” Stiles nodded shakily to himself, feet gaining the ability to walk as he hurriedly moved past Derek. “I gotta go, bye!” He barely made it to the door, when Derek's voice froze him to the spot.

“Stiles, wait,” Derek said, and Stiles whipped around, eyes wide, a lump the size of a softball stuck in his throat, and his heart beating wildly.

Derek stared at him, worried and still, and motioned to his backpack.

“The research?” he carefully questioned, and Stiles felt a blush burn at his neck.

He quickly opened his backpack and pulled out a folder and three books. The books had several loose-leaf sheets stuffed between the pages, filled with notes because Deaton had threatened to sacrifice him to the Nemeton if he wrote in his precious books.

“Here,” Stiles mumbled, burning with embarrassment as he handed Derek the books with a trembling hand. “I added some notes. I'll go over them with you another day. I really gotta go. Bye.” He turned and pulled the door open, not bothering to close it behind him as he rushed off.

* * *

Stiles collapsed against the door and knocked glumly, sighing heavily as it immediately opened to one grinning Scott McCall.

“Hey, Stiles,” Scott greeted.

“Scott,” Stiles mumbled morosely.

“So how'd it go?” Scott asked, but Stiles did not answer him as he pushed inside and headed straight for Scott's pantry. He was in need of gluttonous treats, and a _lot_ of them.

“You didn't tell him, did you,” Scott said as he followed, but it was not a question.

Stiles groaned loudly.

“Told you,” Scott said gleefully, and Stiles turned a glare at him as he fished out a bag of powdered donuts. Though his best friend was right, he had no business telling Stiles truths he already knew. “You're never gonna tell him.”

Stiles opened the bag and sacrificed one delicious donut to throw it at Scott's face. The bastard caught it in his mouth with a grin, and Stiles hated him a little bit for it.

“Thanks, bro,” Scott said, and Stiles stuffed several donuts into his mouth before giving him the finger.

A ding went off and Scott pulled his phone from his pocket. He read through whatever message he had gotten, eyebrows drawing close together before his face pinched and he burst into laughter.

He walked over, still laughing as he pressed the phone into Stiles' hand.

Grimacing, Stiles looked down at the screen to see what was so funny.

 

 **From Derek:**  
**Something is wrong with Stiles.**  
**He was acting weird when he**  
**came by today. Have you noticed**  
**anything?**

 

Furious, Stiles kicked Scott in the shin, watching him hop around as he continued to laugh raucously. Shoving the phone at him, Stiles stuffed several more donuts into his mouth and let out an indignant, muffled yell.

“Shut _up,_ Scott!”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading.
> 
> Twitter: [@nanadanonini](https://twitter.com/nanadanonini)  
> Tumblr: [@floreswrites](http://floreswrites.tumblr.com/)


End file.
